GAAAAHH
What a hell of a day. Really.
I've been having sleeping problems since Alex has been gone-- I slept in today, but that didn't really matter. I pulled myself out of bed to work on the focaccia whose garlic olive oil base I had left to infuse overnight... aaand I don't know how I forgot to plan, but I didn't have enough bread flour. Noo problem, I'll just go for a run and then go to the store afterward.
The weather was GORGEOUS! It's scary because it's global warming but man, I had to roll up my spandex and pull off my underarmor, it was that nice! I never thought that I would wear a tank top outdoors... in January... in Buffalo. Grocery shopping was long and expensive but I bought myself some flowers and put them in the dining room. A beautiful burgundy red, I put a nice ribbon on the vase and felt good about it and spending the money on it. I set to work on redying my hair, which actually turned out fairly horribly and worked on the focaccia. As it was on its first rise, I showered, made some espresso and a pot of coffee and chickory and set down to work on the Washington application.
Hmm.. let's check the board first, see what people are saying about grad school apps... what?! Some people have already gotten accepted into their programs? Hmm... lets check and see if my Chicago app. is being considered. What?! The GRE score still isn't in? Really? Hmm... let's check on that. What?! You mean to say that the score got sent to the incorrect institution and my app. has been silently in limbo for ALMOST A MONTH NOW? What?! Alright... call Chicago. What? The Dean isn't in today? Phone tag, talked to a very nice lady, she had me email her scores, says, "just call ETS, they shouldn't make you pay to resent the scores." Nice, sympathy.
ETS, this call is costing you $12. Fine.
"Hi. My score got sent to the wrong institution."
"Awwww.. pity. Here's the number to report your scores."
"I know the number to report the scores, I'm telling you that they got sent to the wrong place."
"Well, you will have to rereport them."
"You mean that I have to pay again for ETS to send them to the right place?"
"Yes, everything is done by the computer. If there was a mistake, it would have been your fault. Anything else?"
"No."
"Would you like to take a few moments and take a customer service survey?"
"No."
"Really?"
"No, really."
"Well, have a nice day."
"Yeah, you too."
Angry. Call ETS score reporting again. Had to pay $6 for the call, $15 to report something that should have been in the right place several weeks ago. The GRE, in taking it twice and reporting all of the scores, rereporting scores, has cost me a handful short of $500.
Maybe I shouldn't have spent the $8 on these goddamned flowers after all.
Alex asks me last night, "What happens if you don't get in anywhere? It's a real possibility and I don't know if you've fully considered it."
I keep pushing it off in my mind. What happens if I don't get in?
Well, which feeling will be worse: devastation of being rejected by a dozen schools or mourning the loss of $1000 of application and tests for naught?
I don't know that I can fully wrap my head around it until it happens. I hope that it doesn't come down to either. Everytime I go on the board and read about another person getting into their first choice school, I get choked up with anxiety. ..but I'm sure everyone does. Acne has taken over my face, I'm losing motivation for doing things I really like to do, I can't take this stress, it's driving me absolutely fucking mad. But, rejected or accepted, it'll all be over in a few months and either way, I leave Buffalo in August. I guess that's something to look forward to either way. A fresh start.
The focaccia is about halfway through with its second rise. I guess I could make a direct metaphor to my life as a loaf of bread but I doubt it would be flattering in anyway. All that I can say about it, I guess, is that there are series of rises. It starts off in pieces, the dry ingredients, the water and the olive oil... you knead it, forcing it to assemble, forcing the gluten to develop. You allow it to rest. After it has risen for an appropriate amount of time, you have to punch down. It visually returns to its original state. It rises again. You form it and it deflates. You add fancy things on top: tomatoes, basil, oregano: ornamental things in hopes to make it taste better. You let it rise again while preheating the oven. It goes in and while baking, rises. You let it cool and tear into it while it's still hot... and then its gone.
I guess what sometimes we don't realize, when baking bread, is that when you punch it down, when it deflates, visually, nothing looks differently. It looks like you have done something wrong. But on a molecular level, it's been developing the whole time and punching it down is an integral aspect to its journey as a tasty, edible thing. Speaking of which, it is time to preheat the oven, in about an hour from now, I will (hopefully) be enjoying the fruits of my labor.
Here's to my first focaccia, here's to getting things accomplished... here's to a piece of mind which will eventually come.
I've been having sleeping problems since Alex has been gone-- I slept in today, but that didn't really matter. I pulled myself out of bed to work on the focaccia whose garlic olive oil base I had left to infuse overnight... aaand I don't know how I forgot to plan, but I didn't have enough bread flour. Noo problem, I'll just go for a run and then go to the store afterward.
The weather was GORGEOUS! It's scary because it's global warming but man, I had to roll up my spandex and pull off my underarmor, it was that nice! I never thought that I would wear a tank top outdoors... in January... in Buffalo. Grocery shopping was long and expensive but I bought myself some flowers and put them in the dining room. A beautiful burgundy red, I put a nice ribbon on the vase and felt good about it and spending the money on it. I set to work on redying my hair, which actually turned out fairly horribly and worked on the focaccia. As it was on its first rise, I showered, made some espresso and a pot of coffee and chickory and set down to work on the Washington application.
Hmm.. let's check the board first, see what people are saying about grad school apps... what?! Some people have already gotten accepted into their programs? Hmm... lets check and see if my Chicago app. is being considered. What?! The GRE score still isn't in? Really? Hmm... let's check on that. What?! You mean to say that the score got sent to the incorrect institution and my app. has been silently in limbo for ALMOST A MONTH NOW? What?! Alright... call Chicago. What? The Dean isn't in today? Phone tag, talked to a very nice lady, she had me email her scores, says, "just call ETS, they shouldn't make you pay to resent the scores." Nice, sympathy.
ETS, this call is costing you $12. Fine.
"Hi. My score got sent to the wrong institution."
"Awwww.. pity. Here's the number to report your scores."
"I know the number to report the scores, I'm telling you that they got sent to the wrong place."
"Well, you will have to rereport them."
"You mean that I have to pay again for ETS to send them to the right place?"
"Yes, everything is done by the computer. If there was a mistake, it would have been your fault. Anything else?"
"No."
"Would you like to take a few moments and take a customer service survey?"
"No."
"Really?"
"No, really."
"Well, have a nice day."
"Yeah, you too."
Angry. Call ETS score reporting again. Had to pay $6 for the call, $15 to report something that should have been in the right place several weeks ago. The GRE, in taking it twice and reporting all of the scores, rereporting scores, has cost me a handful short of $500.
Maybe I shouldn't have spent the $8 on these goddamned flowers after all.
Alex asks me last night, "What happens if you don't get in anywhere? It's a real possibility and I don't know if you've fully considered it."
I keep pushing it off in my mind. What happens if I don't get in?
Well, which feeling will be worse: devastation of being rejected by a dozen schools or mourning the loss of $1000 of application and tests for naught?
I don't know that I can fully wrap my head around it until it happens. I hope that it doesn't come down to either. Everytime I go on the board and read about another person getting into their first choice school, I get choked up with anxiety. ..but I'm sure everyone does. Acne has taken over my face, I'm losing motivation for doing things I really like to do, I can't take this stress, it's driving me absolutely fucking mad. But, rejected or accepted, it'll all be over in a few months and either way, I leave Buffalo in August. I guess that's something to look forward to either way. A fresh start.
The focaccia is about halfway through with its second rise. I guess I could make a direct metaphor to my life as a loaf of bread but I doubt it would be flattering in anyway. All that I can say about it, I guess, is that there are series of rises. It starts off in pieces, the dry ingredients, the water and the olive oil... you knead it, forcing it to assemble, forcing the gluten to develop. You allow it to rest. After it has risen for an appropriate amount of time, you have to punch down. It visually returns to its original state. It rises again. You form it and it deflates. You add fancy things on top: tomatoes, basil, oregano: ornamental things in hopes to make it taste better. You let it rise again while preheating the oven. It goes in and while baking, rises. You let it cool and tear into it while it's still hot... and then its gone.
I guess what sometimes we don't realize, when baking bread, is that when you punch it down, when it deflates, visually, nothing looks differently. It looks like you have done something wrong. But on a molecular level, it's been developing the whole time and punching it down is an integral aspect to its journey as a tasty, edible thing. Speaking of which, it is time to preheat the oven, in about an hour from now, I will (hopefully) be enjoying the fruits of my labor.
Here's to my first focaccia, here's to getting things accomplished... here's to a piece of mind which will eventually come.